The Activities of Doors
by evergreeneyes
Summary: The only people Draco Malfoy ever loved were his parents, and now they were dead. A Draco/Hermione, post-Hogwarts one-shot, non-epilogue compliant. Romance/Hurt/Comfort.


The Activities of Doors

This graveyard was the stillest place on Earth, Draco thought; it were as if even the birds and the wind were grieving, and the only reminder that he were outside was the freezing air which sat, heavy and still, around him. His fingers rubbed roughly against the black silk kerchief that would be wrapped around his upper arm for the remainder of the mourning period, as tradition dictated.

He flared his nostrils and tensed his jaw, but nothing could keep the tears from spilling over and rolling slowly down his alabaster cheeks. He didn't particularly care, though; wouldn't even if there were someone there to see. Vain as he was, the only people whose opinion he had cared about, the only people whose approval he had sought, were now lying in the soil approximately five metres from where he sat.

Their monument had yet to be erected, but he hoped that they would like it. Afterwards, he scolded himself for these thoughts; they were gone - they had neither the ability to like, nor dislike, anything now.

But nevertheless, he had taken immense care, overseeing the design of the statue himself. It was to be an angel, as was customary among pureblood families, but it was the small details which were significant. The Black family flower, the tulip, was clutched in one marble hand, and a replica of his father's cane in the other. The locket around the woman's neck was the stone realisation of a Malfoy heirloom, the first Lucius had ever given to Narcissa, and the doves perched upon the solid shoulders were a symbol of their love for each other.

It was flamboyant without a doubt, but that was how his parents would have wanted things.

Draco was not sure how long he had been sitting on the bench, in the shadow of an oak tree, reliving his memories. He had very little concept of time, nowadays. He found that that tended to happen when life lost all meaning. There was really no motivation to do anything, when there was no-one to do it for. Most days he would just lounge around the manor in his velvet dressing gown, downing firewhisky and staring blankly out of the windows. It had been just two weeks, and already it felt like an eternity.

He had no friends, no love interest, to try and cheer him up. He had not had real friends at school, and after the war the Malfoys, and other families like them, had been shunned. Not without good reason, of course.

His aunt Bellatrix had been dead a few years now, and she had lost lucidity long before that, anyway.

He had been the only person at the funeral.

Had Draco been less immersed in his thoughts, he might have heard the faint 'pop' of apparition, footsteps, and then the shuffling of fallen leaves as the person caught sight of him and observed him for a moment, before changing direction.

As it was, the blond only looked up when he felt someone sit down beside him. He turned, and registered his own surprise, although the emotion somehow didn't manage to make it onto his features.

Hermione Granger nodded politely to him.

His voice, sounding hoarse and brittle, formulated words of its own volition. "What are you doing here?"

"On this bench, or in this graveyard?" she asked seriously.

"Both."

"Fred is here." She nodded again, this time in the direction of a simple but beautiful gravestone which had yet to be claimed by the moss and ivy that laid a gauze blanket over most of the other resting places. Her curls bobbed about as she moved her head, peaking out of the hood that she had drawn up against the November frost.

"I thought I'd let him know his baby sister has gotten engaged." She smiled fondly at the thought, and Draco felt a twinge of … not jealousy, rather curiosity; her life was so different from his. "And," she looked at him hesitantly, shifting awkwardly where she sat. "Andromeda wanted someone to leave this for your mother. She couldn't do it herself …" Hermione trailed off, and Draco noticed for the first time that she was turning the stem of a black tulip between her delicate little fingers.

When he looked back up at her, her eyes were desperately searching his own. Oddly, he found himself wanting to please her, so he murmured, "She would have liked that."

Hermione looked relieved.

"Do you think he hears you?"

"Pardon?"

"Fred Weasley. Do you think he hears you when you talk to him?"

He watched Hermione consider this for a minute.

"I don't know," she finally conceded. "But I think it's best to talk to them, in case they can."

He found himself warmed a little by her honesty, but her next question was a surprise.

"Do you want to try?"

His eyes snapped back to hers and she gestured towards his parents' graves.

"No," he shook his head tensely.

A few moments elapsed in silence before he felt a small, cold hand rest atop his where it lay on the bench. The shock caused him to jerk a little, but after a moment he found he quite liked the sensation.

They sat like that for a while, and Draco mused over his companion. She was intelligent, warm, feisty, and certainly forgiving, if this experience was anything to go by. She was not glamorous, but definitely pretty, with her small nose, big brown eyes, strawberries and cream complexion and those treacle curls that he had often admired from afar.

Ever so slowly, he lifted her hand to his chapped lips and pressed a kiss onto the smooth skin on the back of it. She flushed, and chewed delicately on her bottom lip.

"Oh! Would you like some hot chocolate?" the Gryffindor asked hurriedly after a few seconds, withdrawing her hand to root around in a large canvas bag.

"I know a good place for hot chocolate. It's nearby. We could go together," Draco interrupted.

For a moment, she seemed to try and see into his soul. He wasn't sure if she succeeded, but she nodded and smiled slightly at him. He tried to smile back, but he had been out of practice for quite a while and he ended up curling his top lip to reveal his teeth.

She evidently appreciated it nonetheless, as she took his hand once more and they stood up together.

"You know," she ventured as he led her towards one of the gates. "Andromeda has a grandson. Teddy; he's four. He spends a lot of time at the Weasleys' - you could come and meet him."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"No-one would mind."

His other eyebrow joined the first.

"They wouldn't, Malfoy. You were nasty to a lot of them, yes, but that was it. Now that we've seen so much real evil, I hardly think they're still very angry."

He didn't understand how any person could be so perfect, much less someone he had known and thought ill of for so many years; she didn't push him too far, and she was so … knowing. Yes, that was it - she seemed to just _know_ what he needed to hear.

He turned to her and, very quickly, he pressed his lips against hers. Her eyes widened momentarily, but then she just gripped his hand tighter, her thumb rubbing circular patterns on his icy skin.

Draco knew his parents wouldn't approve. Actually, that wasn't true - Hermione might be a muggleborn, but his parents, especially Narcissa, had always been inclined to allow him anything he wanted.

It didn't matter if they approved anyway, now; they were dead, whether they were watching from some higher realm or not.

One door had closed, Draco thought, but perhaps another had opened.

**A/N:**** I like to think that they named their first daughter Tulip :D**

**So, you all know what I'm going to say now - review! They really are always appreciated, and brighten an author's day, to be horribly cliché about it. Plus, I will send you virtual chocolate cheesecake.**

**Also, I have a poll and the link to a one-shot/drabble challenge (which closes 1st**** September) on my profile, so feel free to check those out.**

**I hope you all enjoyed this!**


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